


The Lonely Hour

by tempered_rose



Series: Pausenclown [5]
Category: Football RPF, RPF - Fandom, Real Person Fiction, Sports RPF
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, German Football, German National Team, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 21:19:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2040570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tempered_rose/pseuds/tempered_rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part Five of the Pausenclown series. This one takes place between the second and the third one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lonely Hour

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the nice Anon on Tumblr who requested an angsty fic set to [This song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UbNmMddxrOg) by the lovely Sam Smith. Since angst is my favorite thing in the world and it's a good song, I of course obliged. I hope you, Anon, and all the rest of you like it as well. :-)

Thomas can remember when he and Mario used to be a ‘thing’. That was before Miro had happened, of course. It was before he thought he had a chance with one of Germany’s greatest ever players. It was before he really knew what he was doing in the dating, personal relationship world. It was before he had any idea what real life was like apart from just playing football. Mario was easy: an easy relationship, an easy friend, an easy fuck when needed. Easy. Simple. Uncomplicated. Not to mention good looking.

And whatever feeling Thomas had for him shifted immediately to affectionate fondness, but no more the moment he and Miro had caught one another’s gazes in the Bayern dressing room.

From that moment forward, there was only going to be one. _The_ one. Miroslav.

From the first, Thomas had been awestruck by the fact that he was playing on the same team as Miroslav Klose. His hero, his idol. One of them, anyway. It was even more surprising to him that Miro appeared to like him. He gave him encouragement during training, soft-spoken words reinforcing a point or idea that was an improvement on his game. Miro was helpful, a tutor that gave wonderful tips and suggestions for. Miro was an outstanding educator and that’s probably when Thomas fell in love with him.

If it wasn’t then, then it easily could’ve been when Miro rested his hand on the boy’s shoulder as he got worked up on a bad decision from the referee. Miro squeezed gently and with a single shake of his head, Thomas took a deep breath and closed his mouth, glaring daggers at the referee but doing enough so that he calmed down. Miro had likely saved him from being sent off because of his temper. 

After the match, on the bus home, Thomas had been embarrassed by his behavior once he had seen it on the replay and after he thought about it. He was slouched down in the seat on the bus and was avoiding making eye contact with anyone, particularly Fips, because he didn’t want to see the disappointment on their faces. They had won, but squeaking by and almost having a young midfielder get sent off for temperament issues wasn’t quite the way they had wanted to do it. Thomas had lost his control of the game. He had lost his focus.

Miro had come over and sat next to him, hands folded in his lap and not looking at Thomas, merely looking ahead as the bus continued down the highway. Thomas didn’t look at him from underneath the blanket he had pulled up to his eyes. Miro finally looked away from the window and rested his hand on the blanket where Thomas’ arm was underneath. When he turned his head, Thomas’ eyes betrayed him and he ended up making eye contact with stormy-sea colored eyes. There was only kindness there and that made him feel worse.

“You are young, my friend.” Miro had said softly, always he spoke so quietly. “Your temper is still able to get the better of you sometimes.”

If he had been Bastian or Mario, maybe even Lukas, Thomas would’ve retorted with something brilliant such as ‘ _well it was a shit decision_ ’. But this was Miroslav. And Thomas would die a damned man before he gave the great Klose any excuses, especially ones as stupid as that one. So Thomas sat quietly, blanket sliding down just a little so that he could pull the hem of it in his mouth and chew on it anxiously as Miro continued to give him advice and a suggestion that he channel his anger into pushing the other team.

Thomas had noticed the way Miro’s eyes would ever so often glance down and look at his mouth chewing on the hem of the blanket.

Surely, if that hadn’t caused Thomas to fall in love with Miro then their first kiss should’ve done. Training had ended early because it had started snowing and the ground was too slippery to maintain proper balance. Still, despite that, Thomas had taken it upon himself to instigate a snowball fight. He lobbed the first one at Bastian and had proceeded to start an all-out war on his teammates. Thomas had somehow gotten to face off against Miro and his love of joy and delight crashed horribly with his complete and utter reverent respect of the man. He couldn’t throw snow on a legend. He just couldn’t.

Miro, however, did not seem to have such restrictions. And Thomas was no legend. A snowball to the face was then thrown from one of the greatest strikers in the world and it hit Thomas squarely in the face.

Miro’s eyes sparkled and a small smile was on his face as Bastian and Mario were bent over at the waist, gasping for air as they laughed at the stunned expression on Thomas’ face. Miro had walked over to a still shocked Thomas and put an arm around his shoulders. Miro had laughed softly, a beautiful sound, and leaned closer to say something Thomas’ ear. That’s when he felt it. A fleeting brush of lips against the smooth skin of his cheek near his ear. Miro had pulled away and smiled again before going to help the groundsman clean up the training equipment so they could all leave.

Thomas had just remained standing in place, frozen from surprise at the kiss from his hero.

There were a thousand times, a million looks or glances, and possibly a trillion touches that could’ve sealed Thomas’ fate. He loved Miroslav, more than he loved anything, perhaps even football. He was sure the other man felt the same. He was certain of it.

However, the weight of Miroslav’s silence in that Munich hotel room had spoken volumes. The refusal to look at him, the stone wall he had built in seconds that separated the two of them… Thomas wasn’t so sure how Miro felt anymore. He had even begun to doubt whether or not Miro had really loved him at all. But as soon as he would potentially let himself believe that he silenced himself. No, Miro did love him. There were just a quagmire of other unspoken issues between them that couldn’t be resolved yet, if ever, that weighed on the other man’s mind.

Thomas heaved a great sigh and rested his head on the wooden counter of the bar. A beer was in front of him but he had drunk enough of those in the past few hours, he was no longer thirsty. He wasn’t quite sure what Bastian and the other lads were doing right now, but they were certainly making lots of noise behind him. He couldn’t bring himself to feel like joining them. Something Mario must have noticed, because he felt the other man’s hand on his back a moment later.

“What’s wrong, my friend?” Thomas heard him ask, but he was still looking at the place where the bar counter met the tiled floor. Someone had dropped a straw down there and it was captivating. It meant Thomas could avoid looking into the concern in Mario’s unbearably gorgeous blue eyes. “Did someone steal your horse?”

Thomas didn’t reply or even look over. He didn’t want Mario to be the one comforting him. He had also shut out Bastian, Fips, and any of the others. They knew something was wrong with him, but he wouldn’t confide in any of them. It wasn’t time yet. It was all too fresh and the wounds hadn’t quite scabbed over yet. He was still bleeding through his bandages.

If he was honest with himself, he knew exactly what would knock him out of this rut. There was only one person who could speak the words that would unlock the chest of emotion in his heart and relieve the weight that the world had rested on his mind. There was only one person. And that person had said _nothing_ when he had the opportunity. A bitter seed of disappointment stretched its claws and scratched at Thomas’ insides. How could he remain silent? How dare he? When he needed him the most!

“Thomas?” Mario prompted again and for a moment, Thomas let his imagination go.

What if he took Mario upstairs? What if he kissed him? What if he told the other man to fuck him? What if he enjoyed it? What if Miro found out about it? How would he feel? Would he be upset? Would he care then? Could he finally speak and say something _then_? Would doing that make Thomas truly happy?

The seed in his gut was silenced by the strong sea of remorse. No, he couldn’t do that. He was helplessly in love with one man and he could never bring himself to hurt him that way. Regardless if Miroslav never spoke to him again, and Thomas had vowed never to bother him with such issues again, Thomas could never bring himself to knowingly hurt Miroslav that way. He would never forgive himself if he did that.

Still, Mario was easy and familiar. And Thomas did need _someone_ to comfort him…

He finally glanced away from the straw on the floor and looked over. Concern was on Mario’s face, concern and the love that Thomas knew existed between them. Where his had faded to friendly affection, Mario’s hadn’t. Just another thing for him to feel guilty about, Thomas absently thought.

“Can we go upstairs?” Thomas asked and saw the hope and desire spark in Mario’s eyes. Mario nodded instantly and shifted off his barstool and waited for Thomas to do the same. Thomas felt the guilt over Mario stir past the remorse, disappointment, and anger at Miro.

Thomas waited until they were in the elevator before he shifted to explain to Mario what he meant. It was at that moment that Mario took the same initiative and moved across the lift to pull him into a kiss. Surprised, Thomas just let himself be kissed for a moment before his body reacted the way Mario could always get him to do. He kissed him back and his hands rested on Mario’s chest.

It wasn’t until he heard the low growl of approval from Mario, that Thomas realized his hand had wound its way into Mario’s hair and that he was kissing the man in an elevator. Thankfully, this realization coincided with the arrival on their floor. Pushing back, Thomas stepped away from Mario and inhaled deeply. The heady scent of arousal was too much in the small space of the elevator. He needed to clear his head.

They walked towards Thomas’ room and once inside, Thomas stepped outside the reach of Mario’s hand. He held up a hand and that was enough to stop Mario from coming closer. A confused look spread across the other man’s face.

“I, I need to explain something.” Thomas started slowly. He took another deep breath and this time his head cleared. “I asked you up here because you’re my friend and I need you. I need my friend right now.”

Thomas felt his heart break a little further when he saw Mario cover up the disappointment in his eyes. It broke further when Mario nodded again.

“If that’s what you want: I’m yours. You know that.”

_I’m yours._

They sat on the sofa inside the room as Thomas told him everything. About the hotel in Munich, about the great wall of Miro’s silence, about loving him more than anything, and lastly, about the guilt he felt telling Mario everything. Up until that point, Mario had sat quietly and listened to everything, his face showing only concern for Thomas as he spoke. There had been a brief flicker of anger when Thomas had told him about how Miro had just looked at his suitcase as Thomas had poured his heart out. When Thomas got to the part about himself though, that’s when Mario spoke.

“No, don’t feel guilty, Thomas.” Mario rested a warm hand over Thomas’ own. It took a moment but Mario smiled, though there was some level of pain in his eyes as he did so. “I realized long ago that you were never going to be mine. You needed something that I wasn’t ever able to give you. And that’s okay. Don’t feel guilty. We are friends, you are allowed to tell me these things.”

Thomas watched him and wondered how on earth he had managed to have such a good friend. He still felt bad for hurting him, but Mario was watching him sincerely. Why couldn’t Miro have been as open and kind as Mario was now? Why couldn’t they have just had a conversation about all the things bothering them? Why did it have to go so far? _Why couldn’t Miro have acted a little bit more like Mario?_

He crumpled then, to his great shame. He felt himself going, the tears starting from his eyes and sliding down his cheeks. He doesn’t remember much after that, only that Mario had quickly wrapped him in his arms and pulled him close. Thomas didn’t cry, it wasn’t something he did. But as he sat practically in Mario Gomez’ lap he sobbed like a little boy whose favorite football had been stolen by the bigger boys in school. He cried like he did after having a nightmare that his mother had left and wasn’t coming home ever again. His tears fell like rain in a thunderstorm. Still, Mario held him and didn’t bother trying to shush him. He was giving Thomas his moment and the younger man was grateful. He was so grateful for Mario that he told him so through shaky breaths and mumbled words.

An unknown period of time passed and Thomas had finally cried himself out. Mario was still holding him, rubbing small circles into his back. When he noticed the quieter breathing, Mario kissed Thomas’ temple and smiled slightly.

“There, now. Let’s get you some rest and you’ll feel a little better in the morning.” Mario spoke softly and helped Thomas up.

Numbly, Thomas went through the motions of brushing his teeth and getting ready for bed. Mario even tucked him in. It wasn’t until he took a step back from the bed, that Thomas reached out for him again.

“Stay with me? Please?” Thomas asked in a quiet voice. “I don’t want to be alone right now. If it isn’t too much to ask. And if it is, you can ask Bastian or someone.”

Thomas knew he was rambling but he couldn’t stop. He desperately didn’t want to be alone. He couldn’t do the silence or the company of his own thoughts right now. He just couldn’t. Mario didn’t give him the choice to regret his decision.

“Of course.” He replied simply and moved to the other side of the bed. “Always, Thomas, you know. Always.”

Thomas knew. He knew all too well, and that’s why it hurt to ask so much of Mario. He felt the bed dip behind him and a moment later, Mario’s arms were wrapped around him and holding him closely. He felt Mario brush his lips against his shoulder and Thomas swallowed hard.

“Good night, Thomas.” Mario spoke softly, breath warm as it caressed his ear.

Thomas leaned back into Mario’s arms, noticing that the other man had taken off his shirt. He supposed there were thousands of people who would give their right arm to be where he was right now, but Thomas considered himself far more luckier than any of them. He had the comfort of a good friend and the warmth of him too. Still, he felt guilty.

No matter how he tried, that feeling wouldn’t go away. As Mario fell asleep behind him, Thomas couldn’t feel drowsy if he tried. As kind as Mario had been, as loving and sweet, Thomas knew it still wasn’t enough.

He needed Miro. He closed his eyes and felt the pang again. He wasn’t ever going to have him again. He had tried, failed. He needed him but Miro had let him walk out. It hadn’t mattered; _he_ hadn’t mattered. The little fact of want and need didn’t seem to matter. Thomas wanted to call him, scream at him, have a plane write it in the sky. _I need you, stupid fool!_ He wanted to do it, but he wouldn’t.

The last conscious thought he had before he fell asleep was a memory of him and Miro together, in bed. Miro had been murmuring something in his ear in Polish with a tone of voice that had suggested sweet dreams. It was too many words for that, though, Thomas was sure. When he had asked about it the next morning, Miro had smiled slightly at him and told him he couldn’t remember what he had said because he too had been tired. Thomas wasn’t sure what it had been and had intended fully to let it go. It hadn’t been until he searched it on the internet later that he realized what Miro had said.

_I need you too much, my Pausenclown. I love you so much and I don’t deserve you. Sleep well, my love._

Round and round the carousel of Thomas’ thoughts went. Round and round, until he fell into a restless sleep.


End file.
